


Mia

by 221castiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anorexia, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bulimia, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel is Protective of Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Mental Health Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester Has an Eating Disorder, Dean Winchester has bulimia, Dean Winchester is Loved, Eating Disorders, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:48:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26490688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221castiel/pseuds/221castiel
Summary: bu·lim·i·a/noun/an emotional disorder involving distortion of body image and an obsessive desire to lose weight, in which bouts of extreme overeating are followed by depression and self-induced vomiting, purging, or fasting.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 18
Kudos: 128





	Mia

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning:  
> Bulimia, self harm based thoughts, slight glorification of eating disorders

Food wasn’t always a part of Dean’s childhood, John only gave them so much money, and sometimes that would run thin, leaving only enough for Sam. Without much food around Dean had always been slim, never bony, but slimmer, something that at eleven years old, Dean realized people liked about him.

They would compliment him on his figure.

On his sharp jawline.

On his slim waist.

On his looks.

On his control around food. 

They seemed to be the only compliments he got, John never being one for open compassion.

By thirteen Dean realized as long as he didn’t eat the compliments would keep coming. The reassurance that at last he was doing something right. John didn’t seem to notice, though Bobby, who always made sure both brothers were fed, did, and that’s when Dean learned a new trick.

Two fingers down the throat, and he could eat whatever he wanted, as long he made sure it came back up. 

Two fingers down his throat, and no one would know. 

Two fingers down his throat, and he’d stay skinny.

Two fingers.

It wasn’t like he was hurting Sammy.

For once in his life he was doing something right, the starvation, the burning feeling through his skin, the light headed sensation, it became a drug. He craved it. He needed it.

It killed him, and he loved it.

~

“Alright,” Dean said, placing his empty plate into the sink. He turned to Sam who still ate, one hand around his fork, his other holding his phone, eyes on the device. “i’m going to shower, then we can head out.” 

Sam only gave a small hum in response, eyes still locked on his phone. 

It didn’t bother Dean in the slightest. It was easier that way, gave him more reassurance that Sam wouldn’t be curious in following him, not that he ever had before. 

Despite that the fear still ticked at Dean’s mind as he slowly walked through the bunkers halls, jaw locked, in an attempt to keep his food down. He could feel it burning in his stomach. He’d eaten more then his stomach could handle and was now paying for it both physically and mentally.

His whole body alive with anxiety, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Part of him said stop there in the hallway. Throw up there and then. Get it out of him, calm the anxiety, let the nausea win. He needed it out of him.

He couldn’t let it sit in his stomach, build up fat, when he already had so much.

One step

Two steps.

No matter how much quicker his footsteps became he never seemed to be close enough. 

Another step.

A spinning of his head.

Another step.

His stomach growling. Full yet still desperate for more. 

Another step, and he was pushing his way into his bedroom, a gasped breath filling his lungs. 

Dean locked his bedroom door before making his way to his bathroom, locking that door as well. He then turned the shower on, as powerful as it would go, before kneeling in front of the toilet, eyes on the clear water. 

The first time he’d down it, at fourteen, he’d cried. He'd sobbed before he had down, he’d sobbed during, and then after, then for the rest of the night.

He could still remember not being able to exactly get the right angle. Fingers in the back of his throat, as tears and snot stained his face. Fingers moving, jabbing, wiggling, until he felt the acidic taste come back up, burning through his throat, and mouth.  
Now he no longer cried.

It had become routine, if anything a comfort.

Something he’d become numb to, or if anything relied on, wanted, craved, needed. 

It would make him okay.

It would make the anxiety ease. 

It would make the fat burn away.

Slowly Dean raised his hand. He rested his fingers against his bottom lips, inhaling a deep breath before pushing them into his mouth, and to the back of his throat. 

Within seconds Dean could feel the familiar burning in his throat. The acidic taste as he threw up his dinner into the toilet, burning up his nose and through his mouth, the smell almost just as bad as the taste. He could feel it dripping down his chin, though at that moment he couldn't care, instead letting his forehead rest against the rim. 

He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t move. He didn’t think he could, every muscle in his body aching, his stomach searing in pain, desperate for food. Even if he wanted to, he didn’t think he could eat, he couldn’t imagine food passing his lips, going down his throat, sitting in his stomach to develop into fat. 

He didn’t think he could eat.

And he didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to.

He really wanted to.

A slow breath filled his lungs, the smell of sick burning in his lungs, followed by a second breath. He could almost die there. Simply not stand, it wouldn’t take long for the stavaton to take over. 

Another breath filled his lungs.

“Dean?”  
“Son of a bitch!” Dean cried at the sudden noise. His eyes snapped open, as he pushed himself away from the toilet, his gaze immediately going to Cas who was stood at the other end of the bathroom. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was informed this is what couples do.”

Dean’s gaze darted across the other’s features which sat in a small frown. If it was Sam, his heart would be hammering. If it was Charlie he’d already be throwing up again. Even if Crowley had found him he’d be worried. Though Cas, he didn’t think the angel would understand, or at least he hoped not.

That was the only thing keeping him calm, keeping his voice steady.

“Do what?” Dean asked, “appear in each other’s bathrooms?”

“Shower together.”

Dean sighed. He brought his hand to his face rubbing it across his chin in an attempt to wipe off the throw up though he ended up just spreading it. “They usually tell each other first.”

“My apologies.” Cas said. His gaze darted across Dean then to the toilet, a frown tugging at his lips as he tilted his head. 

Don’t say anything. Don’t understand. That’s all Dean could think as his boyfriend continued to stare. “Dean,” he could feel his stomach drop, threatening to throw up what little was left in it. “Are you alright?” 

“Yah,” Dean managed, his voice coming out quieter than he would have liked. “just a bit sick.”

Cas’s gaze dropped back down Dean's body, his nose scrunched the slightest bit, something that if it weren’t for the fear, Dean would have thought was cute. “You are more than just a bit. Organ failure, a developing esophageal perforation, anemia, heart damage, malnutrition. You're incredibly sick.” As Cas took a small step forward Dean tensed. “I can fix it though it may take a moment.”

“It’s fine!” Dean insisted. “I’ll live.”

“I don’t think you will.”

Castiel’s word should have made Dean’s stomach drop, he should have been terrified, of dying, of the diseases that would come, of everything it would do to his body. He should have at least been concerned, though he couldn’t be.

Starving to death, as messed up as it was, seemened beautiful. Slow, drawn out, dull, and painful. It seemed almost addictive. Beautiful. Euphoric. Holding the same grace as a ballerina across a stage. 

No monsters. 

No destiny.

Just his own fucked up thoughts winning. 

Dean froze as Cas took a step closer, followed by another, until he was right in front of Dean, the confused expression never leaving his face. “I don’t understand,” Cas whispered, though the words seemed more for himself then Dean. Please don’t understand. “How has this happened?” 

“I guess burgers and beer aren't the vision of health.” 

Cas didn’t reply, his expression not even faltering for a second. “I’m going to talk to Sam and tell him you won’t be joining him in the hunt.”

“No!” The word fell before Dean could stop it, though at that moment, Dean couldn’t care to hide the fear in his voice, or stop the hammering of his heart. Sam couldn’t know. Sam could never know. “Don’t talk to Sam.” 

“why not?”

“Cas,” Dean finally whispered. The frustration was building up, a mix of emotions seeming to pile up higher as he desperately tried to build a wall to stop them. Fear of Sam knowing. Anxiety from the way his stomach made rolls as he hunched on the floor. Pain. Pain. So much pain, both physically and mentally. “Just-” Dean took a hesitant breath, squeezing his jaw shut for a moment, “leave.” 

“Dean.”

“Leave.”

For the first time since Cas had arrived his confused expression fell, in realization, or maybe worry, Dean wasn’t sure. “You’re in pain.”

Dean didn’t reply, he couldn’t, instead he squeezed his jaw tighter, attempting to stop the rising emotions, the blurring of his vision. It was hard to keep everything at bay as the only thing his mind could focus on was how hungry he was. How a stabbing pain burned in his stomach. How he was almost too weak to stand.

Dean’s gaze stayed on Cas, watching tensely as the angel slowly crouched, and picked Dean up with ease. “I can walk,” Dean whispered, barely able to breath as Cas held him bridal style. 

He could feel the way his stomach rolled as he was held, his thighs stuck together, chin pressed down, causing more rolls. So many rolls. So much fat. He couldn’t even enjoy Castiel’s warmth, to focused on his spiraling thoughts, sending him further into anxiety. 

“Your body is eating itself away, you need to rest.” 

So much fat.

Den could still feel it as Cas sat him on the edge of the bed, his thighs still touching. His under arms touching his sides. His jeans belt making it hard to breath. 

So much fat.

He could feel it in his face. He could feel it across his whole body, burning. Searing his skin, sending the anxiety spiralling. 

Dean’s gaze stayed on the other, as Cas stood in front of him, gaze traveling up and down Dean’s body once again. Dean himself could only shift, tugging his flannel over his body. “I don’t understand.” Cas repeated. He raised a hand, and from across the room, a pair of Dean’s pajamas flew to him. “You get changed. I’m going to get you some food, I will be back.” 

Dean only gave the smallest nod, as Cas handed over the pair of sweatpants and old t-shirt, making no movement until the other had left. He then slowly pulled his shirt off, eyes staying firmly forward, away from the mirror that could be seen from his bathroom. He’d seen people on tv with eating disorders, they always looked in the mirror, judged their waists, and thighs, Dean couldn’t. He was terrified of looking in the mirror, of seeing how much bigger he’d gotten. 

So much fat.

He used the old t-shirt to wipe the throw up from his face, before throwing it into the corner of his room. He then pulled on the new t-shirt, his gaze continuing to stay firmly forward as he pulled off his jeans, and pulled on the sweat pants, his fingers hesitation at his waist.

So much fat. 

He had considered cutting it away, once, twice, the thought was always at the back of his mind. Grab one of their many knives and slowly carve out his own skin, cut himself thigh gaps, force a thin waist. Sam was the only thing keeping him from trying.

For a moment Dean’s finger stayed there, the skin burning against his own touch. His eyes fluttered shut, until he heard the door open. 

His hands fell back to his sides, eyes flying open, meeting the angel in the doorway. 

“The google suggested soup for when you’re sick,” Cas explained. He walked back to Dean, placing a bowl of tomato soup. It looked like the whole can, it would be 200 calories at most, 120 at minimum. Dean would say 250 to be safe. He’d already eaten today, 250 was too much. “They also suggested tea,” Cas continued placing a mug next to the soup, “I know you don’t like tea so I brought coffee instead.”

Dean gave a small nod of his head, gaze still on the food. He was starving. The acid taste still burned in his mouth. He wanted to eat so bad he could cry, but there was so much fat across his body.

So much fat.

“Thanks,” Dean whispered, watching as Cas walked around to the other side of the bed, and sat next to Dean. He needed to focus on something else, anything else but the soup. He’d regret it if he ate it, but he was so hungry. 

Cas’s gaze stayed on Dean for a moment, his blue eyes staring intensely as Dean stared back. “Are you not going to eat?” Cas finally asked, tilting his head slightly, his eyebrows furrowing, and nose scrunching. 

“Not right now, my stomach isn’t feeling good.” Cas gave a small nod in understanding. 

Slowly Dean layed down, able to feel rolls at his side as he did. Each breath becoming more shaken as he tried to keep his breathing steady.

So much fat. 

He raised a hand pulling Cas closer. “Come lay with me.” 

The angel only gave a small hum in agreeance, before letting Dean pull him into a tight hug. The warmth was nice, Cas’s back against Dean’s chest, his arms around the other. He was always so cold, from his toes to his finger tips, at times it became painful. 

Cas was always so warm, so comforting.

So slim and perfect. 

Dean buried his face into the back of Cas’s next, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears. He hated himself. He hated the fact that, that was all he could think about, how slim Cas was, how built Sam was, how slim Jack was. How he himself was built, with so much fat.

“Dean?” He could feel Cas shifting in his arms, and quickly Dean brought his hands to his face, stopping whatever tears threatened to fall, just as Cas faced him. 

They were so close, almost nose to nose as they layed in bed. Dean could feel his thighs touching, sticking together, from how low his sweatpants hung. 

So much fat.

Cas lips parted, and for a second he didn’t continue, only a warm breath flaring across Dean’s cheeks. “I love you,” Cas finally whispered. “You don't have to say it back, as I understand it’s not easy, but I think you need to know.” 

Dean didn’t reply, his eyes instead staying locked on Cas’s as the other raised a hand slowly trailing it across the side of Dean’s face. He couldn’t find the words to tell the other to stop, no matter how much he wanted to. He couldn’t tell the angel, who was trying so hard to make sure he was okay, that every touch burned. Every trail of his fingers, down Dean’s arm, along Dean’s side, burned, sending him spiralling into anxiety.

Along his side. Along his chest. Outlining scars that Cas had long ago memories. It all made his lungs seem to collapse, breathing seemed like an impossible task.

There was so much fat.

No matter how gentle, how innocent the touch was Dean didn’t want it.

There was too much fat. 

“I have been alive for billions of years and never met anyone as incredible as you.” Cas’s fingers trailed to Dean’s stomach resting there as Dean held his breath.

So much fat.

“You are the most amazing man I have ever met.” Cas’s hand dropped, his eyes going back to Dean’s, wide and blue. “And I am in love with you.” 

Dean took a slow breath, his not moving from the other’s. I love you, on the tip of his tongue, though seeming stuck there. 

“Dean,” Cas whispered, when he hadn’t replied. “May I heal you.”

“Not now Cas.”

“Dean you will die.”

“I said not now,” the word was met to come out angry, insistent, at least frustrated, though it was laced by nothing but pain.

“Dean why not?” He clenched his jaw, vision beginning to blur with tears. How could he tell the other that it felt good, that knowing he was that sick ment he was doing something right. How could he tell Cas he enjoyed it, needed it, loved it. Dean attempted to take a breath though it came out as a gasped sob. “You can talk to me.”

“Not now,” Dean whispered, as tears began rolling down his cheeks. “Please.”

“Okay.” Cas’s arms wrapped around him and this time he lent into the touch, burying his face into his angels chest, as sobs passed his lips, tears continuing to stain his cheeks. “whenever you’re ready.”

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this under my one shot book but changed my mine, sooo here it is!   
> Yah!  
> ...  
> I hope you enjoyed it! have a lovely rest of your week, drink water, where a mask and do something that make you happy!  
> -Paige 
> 
> Tumblr- 221Castiel  
> Wattpad- 221Castiel


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